


prayer of the refugee

by ephedilia



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 23:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephedilia/pseuds/ephedilia
Summary: Lewyn understands. He’s her caretaker, but the house they share together; it lingers with domesticity, feels like ether and unspoken happiness. They don’t have all the time in the world.One day, it will be over.





	prayer of the refugee

It’s an early, chill morning of winter when Julia brings flowers.

The villages in the remote hills are covered, hidden due to the snow. Puffs of air whisper, attempt to set them apart from imperial searches, and relief is the most obvious emotion Lewyn catches from the people. It flutters, an indistinguishable feeling besides from the terror. An underneath terror no one wants to acknowledge until it’s late and chances of escape are futile.

“I thought about it,” Julia says, smiling. “We could bring some color. I’ve heard spring is almost here—” Her eyes flicker to his. “Or, was it a bad idea?”

He shakes his head, halfway considering telling her _it’s alright_ , or  _you need to be careful when walking outside_ , but decides to say nothing. The joy and happiness in Julia’s face are rarely shown so vivid, he doesn’t want to ruin it. Nor take this away from her.

Julia hums a few songs. She’s still learning, and it’s evidence she’s grown like another child. Lewyn wonders if nobles will be unable to recognize her.

“I’ll put them somewhere near,” she replies, walking around.

“The door?”

“Yes. It’s a good idea.”

“Then, put some on the table, too.”

Lewyn watches over her, listening to the breeze, aware of how it gets mixed up with the steady, constant rhythm of Julia’s heartbeat. She’s happy, that’s for sure. The picture of domesticity lingers. He brushes it aside, the memories of a woman’s smile and reassuring, peaceful bliss.

He’s forgotten about his life; his flute from earlier days was left behind, whether his children would pick it, he had no idea. Any traces of the bard are gone, only weariness and a sense of responsibility remain. His bones are dried up after the constant feeling of loss. Or, more accurately, living on when everything had changed so irrevocably and being self-aware—

He chooses to look forward from those he left behind, not long for what-ifs or could-have-beens.

 

* * *

 

Once in a blink of his lifespan, Forseti reminisces.

 

* * *

 

The front door opens.

It throws him for a loop when he senses everything in the air: the smell of firewood, the rough blanket on Julia’s lap, the smell of freshly-made dinner on the table. Lewyn stands there, warming from the cold, until his steps resonate around the house. Stillness is peculiar for him. If being stuck is frustrating for people, he’s well-used to being _here_.

From the corner, Julia sets the plates down before pulling his chair.

He glances briefly at her hands. _Calloused_. He’s taught her all she needs to know about magic; her pale, delicate-looking fingers are similar to his. They irradiate power and practice. Perhaps, if one attempts to look further, they will realize their way of living contributes, too. Their conditions are decent, not luxurious at all. It would be no less different if they were in a forest.

A pause. Lewyn waits for his memories to resurface, remind him of Julia’s mother.

Nothing comes. Little by little, he gives up. His memories are jumbled, it might as well be a useless effort, but he understands. Mother and daughter—they’re different.

“Eat all your porridge,” he tells her. His voice is firm, unwavering as he places his bag down. “I brought some meat for tonight.”

“Meat?” Julia asks, surprised. Her eyes widen, slightly curious, peering at him. “For dinner?”

“A special treat.”

She gives him a small, tender smile, clinging to the blanket. He ruffles her head. The neighbors agree he’s her caretaker, but Lewyn has heard their compliments of _Julia’s grown into a good lass_ , or _you must be so proud_ , or _it’s so nice to see she’s in good hands_. It’s all followed under stuff he has the vague understanding a parent receives about their children.

They finish dinner. Without seconds, Julia stares around before at him, her eyes full of questions. It’s a sort of melancholic aura, what she carries all over her, almost ethereal. She peers around the house, taking in the furniture and the flowers of previous springs. Her mouth opens and it’s what he had predicted. 

“Are we leaving? Tomorrow.”

 _If the Empire is slow_. “Yes,” Lewyn says, instead.

“I heard about it. People in the village are worried, they don’t wish for this.”

“Nobody did.” But the wheels of fate had turned, perhaps, from the moment a forest maiden had stepped into reality.

“Where are we going?” Julia tilts her head. “I need to know to pack lightly or not for the journey.”

He presses his lips together, thoughtful.

“Isaach.”

 

* * *

 

The village remains asleep as they walk into the woods.

It’s simple; Lewyn has walked this path countless of times. He watches as the first sunlight rays show up, peeking from the clouds, Julia’s hand clinging to his. She doesn’t complain, though, cautious when nearby sounds happen. Their steps in the snow are the only proof they left, and will never go back.

“Do you have complains?” He asks to be sure.

Julia shakes her head. “I trust you, Lewyn.”

It’s strange how it makes him waver—so slightly, before he allows a small smile to appear.

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

**Author's Note:**

> from the jugdral fanzine!
> 
> a special gift for xanemarths, thanks for all princey! this piece is short and i’ll probably write add more in the future but i wanted smth short for this family. thanks for reading!


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